


On the Eve of Battle

by KerriLovegood



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cheesy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Future Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 12:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KerriLovegood/pseuds/KerriLovegood
Summary: Tirza Aeducan has rejected the Dark Ritual, and faces the reality that should Riordan fall, she will die in battle with the Archdemon. She returns to her room at Redcliffe Castle, where Leliana comforts her, but she cannot tell the full truth.And then, Tirza tells a story to the bard who has always enchanted with hers.





	On the Eve of Battle

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a couple years ago, but I don't consider it canon in my worldstate anymore. Essentially: I've decided to Unbury My Gays and not have my warden sacrifice herself. However, I still liked this story, and perhaps parts of it could be salvaged for that new canon. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Her hand lingers on the metal knob after the thick wooden door has thudded shut. She sighs and lets herself collapse for just a moment, before turning to the interior of the room.

 

The spare room at Redcliffe lent by Arl Eamon is foreign to her, yet provides more comfort than the cold ground of the tents they are used to. It is dim, lit by a few candles whose flames flicker in the gold of their bases. The bedding and cloth hung around the bedposts are a deep purple, and it is crisply made. But what catches her eye is the slim woman with her heart-shaped face and corona of bright red hair sitting in the middle of the bed. She is stripped down from her armor, flipping through the contents of a book bound in leather, and looks up with a warm smile.

 

“Oh, hello,” Leliana says playfully. 

 

There is silence. Tirza takes it all in for a moment: the way one corner of her pink mouth has turned up in her smile, the way her hair burns gold in the candle flame, the delicate way her hands hold the book in her fingers, and the curve of her crossed legs at ease in front of her. It is so much and it is not enough, she thinks, with an odd feeling of tightness in her chest. The distance between them seems so hard to cross, and she has forgotten how to use her legs. Her hand still rests on the doorknob.

 

“Tirza, what's going on? Come to bed -- or I might have to make you,” Leliana says coyly, untangling her legs and placing the book down on the bedside table. 

 

Tirza nods once before moving finally, and she moves her way towards the bed, removing her gloves and placing them on the table beside the book. “I believe we have seen the last of Morrigan,” she says stiffly.

 

“The last of her? What...do you mean by that?” Leliana’s voice is becoming more hesitant, filling with worry. 

 

Tirza is unstrapping her gauntlets, not making eye contact. She can’t look Leliana in the eyes with the weight of the whole truth. It is settling in her gut now, Riordan’s words.  “There was a disagreement. We chose different paths. That...was that.” 

 

“I can't believe her!” The other woman scoffs, now sitting upright on the edge of the bed, brows drawing together as her face twists in disgust. “After all this time and everything we've all been through...silly me, thinking she actually cared.” There is real pain in her voice before she hesitantly continues. “Are you alright?”

 

“The last thing we need now are deserters,” Tirza says, still tugging at the strap of the same gauntlet, bare hands shaking slightly with an unease she tries to stifle. 

 

“Let me help you,” Leliana says gently, stepping up from the bed and closing the distance between them. She does not meet the taller woman’s eyes as she removes one gauntlet and then the other, freeing her forearms of the heavy metal. She continues on like this, her pale thin fingers moving to some unheard rhythm Tirza has come to know by now that  Leliana hears somewhere in her very core. She loves the bard for it, and now she can say nothing as the pieces of her armor are placed gently on the floor beside her. 

 

Leliana gets on her knees to face her better, humming to herself as she removes Tirza’s chestplate. The layer of mail rises and falls with the heaving of her chest. “Leliana, you don’t have to-”

 

“I want to,” she replies gently. “Just this once.”  Finally, Tirza looks up to meet her eyes, taken aback for a moment at how bright they are before her. 

 

Her hands cup Leliana’s face, and she kisses her briefly, arms still shaking. “Alright,” she says. 

 

A few minutes later, she is in nothing but her undergarments, the candlelight flickering warmly on the deep browns of her skin. She pauses a moment before reaching to her hair and tugging at the tightly wound bun just starting to sag in the late hours. Volumes of her curly black hair fall around her face like a shroud, and she laughs despite herself. 

 

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” Leliana says, color tinging her cheeks. “I know I’ve said it before, but I was always rambling. You know how I am like that.” Placing both of her hands on either side of Tirza’s face, she holds strands of her hair between her fingers and holds on in desperation. “I-I know I talk about your hair or your - Maker, your arms…or something, but I mean it. Every time.”

 

“I know, I-” Tirza says quietly, taking a shuddering breath before she can finish the thought. “I know. I know you do.”

 

Leliana grins at that. “Good.” Her hands have dropped to Tirza’s shoulders, thumb tracing a line on her collarbone. “Have I told you that your hair looks like a cloud?” As her face begins to contort in confusion, Leliana amends “No, no, I mean a cloud at night. Like the ones that pass in front of the moon...It’s silly.”

 

She is overcome for a moment, eyes stinging at her own loss of composure. Some mutinous part of her wants to tear down the drapes from the bed, to scream and let it echo through the halls, to freeze time and never move on from this moment, to never open that door again. Deep breaths. 

 

Bravery.

 

The gentle blue of the eyes that will not look away.

 

She should tell Leliana. Tell her that should Riordan fall, she intends to die, and prevent Alistair from even having the thought of it. It would be what was fair and honorable. Leliana has every right to know. 

 

But she has never felt like more of a coward. The Blight ending is the most important thing in all of Thedas right now -- and she knows the price. Leliana would insist on alternatives that do not exist. What was it her vision had been of? Falling into impenetrable darkness.   
  


“You seem troubled. Far away. I can’t imagine the weight you are feeling right now.” She kisses her again, on the lips this time. “How are you feeling, now that it’s so close to being over? Victory is at your fingertips, and now all you have to do is grab it, claim it as yours. With a few thousand others to witness, of course.”

 

“You’re so sure of it.”

 

“I suppose I have to be. I can’t bear the thought of being anything else,” Leliana says pensively. “With you, our chances could never be better.”

 

“I am not alone,” Tirza presses. “I imagine one day bards will sing the song of the bard above all others who became a war hero, who saved Thedas.”

 

“You’re sweet. And I’ve been working on our songs myself, though I do not know the ending. Maybe I’ll add a few griffins in, I think that’s more romantic.”

 

She smiles sadly. “You do that.”

 

Sensing she has hit a sour topic, Leliana switches topics instantly. “Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one this nice, and I intend to enjoy it.”

 

Standing up, Leliana backs up another step and pulls down the comforter and sheets. Instinctively, she offers a hand to Tirza, who takes it as she clumsily jumps onto the downy mattress. Sagging into the fluff, Tirza exhales and mutters “Damn humans.”

 

Leliana giggles as she walks around to the other side of the bed, sighing contentedly as she lays down between the sheets. Rolling onto her side, she faces Tirza, who is still sitting upright, back to her. “Leave the war outside this room, love. Let it wait for us in the morning. Give us now.”

 

Tirza huffs a laugh as she turns around and lays down facing Leliana. Her hands are bunched up in fists in front of her, and it almost looks like the other woman’s face rests just above her knuckles. She could reach out and hold her, if she wanted. Though cast in shadow, Leliana’s eyes have never looked more bright. “Perhaps you’re right.” 

 

Sinking into the mattress, the sheets hugging every aching muscle, she feels the temptation creep up, and an idea of a life she could live. If things were different, she could lay down every night to the gentle curves and begging blue eyes of her bard. In that world, she would buy Leliana every pair of shoes in Orlais. There would always be a vase of Andraste’s Grace by the doorway, and the sticky sweet scent of it would hang from their fingertips.

 

She closes her eyes, her throat tightening. The twisted melody claws up again, from below the stone and below the darkspawn. It is desperate and angry, yet oddly transfixing. Even if the Stone or Leliana’s Maker proved merciful in the battle ahead, she would only have a few decades before she would return to spill her poisoned blood as that song overtook her. 

 

A soft pressure on her hands makes her open her eyes; Leliana rests her cheek against them, murmuring something quietly. As she opens her palm to cup the other woman’s face, thumb resting on the soft pink of her lips, she thinks to herself:  _ I am not afraid _ . Death had never scared her, she could walk into it openly as long as she knew she had achieved something good. Something honorable. 

 

Leliana kisses her fingertips, and she smiles at the slight flutter that still beats in her chest. 

 

Yes, she could die for this. For a world where such things exist.

 

Shuffling closer to Leliana, the other woman gratefully wraps her arms around her. Tirza feels her breath against her forehead, steady and warm. Leaning forward, she presses her lips to Leliana’s exposed collarbone, and she feels more than hears her giggle. 

 

“Dear one,” she whispers, trying to remember the stars somewhere above them, and the sky that seems to stretch to embrace the world. “Will you tell me a story?”

 

Leliana hums contentedly. “That’s the spirit.” Her arms tighten around her, and Tirza allows herself to smile. “There’s that new story I have been working on,” she says coyly. “It’s a love story. I need you to tell me if the details are right.”

 

She is grinning now, blinking away tears. “I can do that.”

 

“There was once a woman who told stories all day long. Not all of them were true. And some of them were to hurt people. She was trained not just as a songbird, but a predator, too.”

 

“She was very good at what she did,” Tirza says. “And as beautiful as the rising sun.”

 

“You would not make a bad minstrel yourself,” Leliana replies fondly, kissing her nose. They meet each other’s eyes and she seems to get lost for a moment, the candlelight dancing across her features in silence. “...Where was I? Oh, yes. But she was hurt as though tossed by a storm repeatedly until she awoke on a distant shore. She found refuge there, but believed there was still something greater waiting.”

 

“Little did she know, however,” she continued, “that the greatest days of her life were not spent, but ahead. She met the most unexpected of companions, a beautiful dwarf, and she would learn to love again, when she believed that it was impossible, and it fills her like the most beautiful garden.”

 

“At this same time,” Tirza begins, her smile turning into a grin as Leliana looks at her in surprise, “a woman of the Stone discovered at the point of a knife that she placed her honor in the wrong hands. And…” she takes a deep breath, “that she was wrong about the world.” 

 

“Oh, but you must give her credit,” Leliana says. “She is a cunning warrior, stoic, stronger than a whole army.”

 

“I am not,” Tirza says, suddenly serious.

 

“You are, now let me compliment you!” Leliana laughs, exasperated. Her hand trails across Tirza’s collarbone. “While gifted in battle and beauty, the young bard came to discover that her companions’ greatest strength was the righteous fury of her heart. In a lifetime of petty quarrels and selfish hands grabbing at power, it was hard to believe that a person would fight simply because it was what was right. And - And -” Leliana’s composure seems to fall at last, as though she is realizing the unsaid stakes, and is letting the war inside the room. Her palm flattens against Tirza’s chest, as though searching out the heartbeat there.

 

“And the dwarven woman learned of the sun-touched surface - “ Tirza says quickly, picking up where Leliana left off and covering her hand with her own. She savors this pulsing as well, which may be some of her last.

 

“Learned it was not something to fear, but something to know and to protect. She - _ I _ ” In the waning light, she sees how wide the other woman’s eyes are, as she hangs on her every word, just as Tirza herself has for months at every new story around the campfire. Dozens of memories spill into her mind, pressing for their moment of attention. All of them are under that great big sky which she used to fear, and she just might have the  _ honor  _ to die under.

  
When her voice comes back, it is stronger at last. She needs the bard to understand this for when she tells the story again -- “ _ I _ learned to  _ love _ the world because of  _ you,  _ Leliana.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope to write about these two in happier times when I have the chance. As for now, just know that they're happily married and searching for a cure to the Taint. :)


End file.
